


Fireheart

by Myth979



Series: Truthteller [2]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myth979/pseuds/Myth979
Summary: As an assassin, Lillian knew what she was supposed to do. As mistress of the Crown Prince and accidental political player, she's still working that out.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Nehemia Ytger, Dorian Havilliard/Chaol Westfall, Dorian Havilliard/Chaol Westfall/OC
Series: Truthteller [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1482137
Comments: 36
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Welcome to the final form of 2 Glass 2 Shatter! I hope you enjoy this sequel as much as you seem to have enjoyed the first one.

What did an assassin do with no one to assassinate?

In Lillian’s case, she thought about her dreams. In one dream it was dark, and the dark was endless, and she couldn’t move.

She wasn’t sure it was worse than the ones where she was in the only slightly less neverending dark of the salt mines of Endovier, but at least the ones about Endovier she understood. The dreams of Endovier didn’t make her seem dead - something she should have warned Chaol and Dorian about.

“We couldn’t  _ wake you up,”  _ Dorian had said shrilly, and Chaol had been pale and drawn. They had not been reassured by the information that Celaena, as her tutor in all things assassination, usually just left her there until she woke on her own.

“How often does she watch you sleep exactly,” Chaol had asked flatly, and Lillian had been forced to confess that it was probably more often than even Lillian knew.

Less often now, Lillian assumed, since no one was actively trying to murder her or Dorian these days that she knew of. The contest was over. Dorian was the indisputable heir.

Which led her back to the question: what was she supposed to be doing? She’d already made Chaol show her the escape tunnel to the coast when his knee had healed, dragging a protesting Dorian along with them. She had hidden caches throughout the castle and grounds. She kept waiting for something to happen, whether it was the king ordering her to do something distasteful as he’d suggested months ago or Celaena to suggest something physically improbable for Lillian to try.  _ Nothing.  _

And to top it all off, the song was stuck in her head again.

_ Deep in the season that kills as it saves _

_ Fire in snow came the winter’s own Maeve _

“Ugh,” Lillian said into the summer night air, and dropped over the balcony so she could swing into the rooms Celaena kept as her noble alter-ego Kaltain Rompier.

Inside she found Celaena-as-Kaltain and Nehemia bent over a piece of paper. Nehemia didn’t try to hide what she was doing when she folded it up and slipped it into her bodice, but she still didn’t let Lillian get a look. Similar things had been happening more and more lately, and Lillian tried not to take offense: the princess of a not-quite-conquered nation with the barest of plausible deniability when it came to connections with certain rebel groups trying to undermine the king and father of the prince whose mistress Lillian happened to be had secrets to keep, even from her friends. Lillian just hadn’t realized she was sharing them with Celaena. 

Nehemia didn’t even know Kaltain  _ was  _ Celaena, or that Celaena was a princess of an absolutely conquered nation. It stung a little. Of course, Nehemia would probably be hurt when Aelin-who-was-Celaena-who-was-Kaltain told her the truth too, and upset with Lillian for hiding it.

_ You were bored a minute ago,  _ Lillian thought at herself.  _ How, exactly? _

“You know, Lillian, I thought we were past keeping personal secrets,” Nehemia said.

“Personal secrets?” Lillian repeated. She couldn’t recall anything about herself she was keeping from Nehemia.

“Your birthday,” Nehemia said patiently. “We missed it last year.”

Lillian blinked. What had she been doing last year in June? Practicing, probably. Maybe at a party. It hadn’t even occurred to her at the time that it  _ was  _ her birthday.

“Oh,” she said.

“Oh,” Nehemia parrotted, smiling. “You’re acting like it’s a surprise for you, too.”

“Birthdays weren’t really important in the mines,” Lillian admitted, settling on the windowsill. “I think I just forgot.”

Nehemia went tense and quiet, as she always did when she was reminded of Lillian’s two-year long stint as a prisoner in Endovier.

“Consider this a reminder,” Kaltain said into the silence. “You have a birthday in two weeks. Summer Solstice.”

“Don’t be late?” Lillian joked. “How did you know, anyway?”

Kaltain looked away. “Sometimes they talk about it. At the shop.”

“The shop,” Lillian said, because there hadn’t been enough repeating of words today. 

“The shop?” Nehemia asked.

“I get my dresses from the Gordainas,” Kaltain said, staring intently at a stretch of wall.

“The Gordainas. As in, Lillian Gordaina?”

Lillian maybe still had some personal secrets she’d kept from Nehemia.

* * *

“I just don’t understand,” Nehemia said, after Lillian had explained what felt like her entire life’s story, including the time she’d been snatched off the street, falsely convicted for assassinations as Celaena Sardothien, and  _ then  _ thrown into Endovier. “This Celaena - do you even look like her?”

“Not remotely,” Lillian replied, pointedly without looking at Celaena herself, who had said nothing at all during the recitation. “She’s not so bad, though.”

“She let you be convicted for crimes she committed and sent to a  _ work camp,”  _ Nehemia said. “I think you are too good, and too inclined to forgive people, Lillian. I won’t. I don’t think she deserves it.”

Lillian winced even as Celaena stood. “I need to go,” Celaena said, and did.

“Please forgive her, Lillian,” Nehemia said, blissfully unaware of the irony. When Lillian tried to wave it off, Nehemia continued, “No, I know, she should stay and listen, but - Kaltain is sensitive. She’s always upset when she remembers what you went through.”

“Is she,” Lillian said flatly. If she was as good as Nehemia thought she was she would have  _ actually  _ forgiven Celaena and wouldn’t continue to needle her now, but she couldn’t help it. It just got worse whenever Endovier came up around Nehemia, who now knew everything but the most important bits.

At least Lillian’s panic attacks had been fewer and further between, and the one she’d had most recently had not resulted in any blood or bruising. Talking to Philippa helped even if it made Lillian hate the king more.

“She suggested having a small party the day before the Solstice,” Nehemia said. “Since the king will probably not excuse you or the princes from the ceremonies on the day of this year, now that you’re both important.”

“Politic of her.”

“I’ll be nice to your prince,” Nehemia wheedled. “We won’t invite Erick.”

“Erick can come if Kaltain doesn’t care.  _ I’ll _ only come if you aren’t nice to Dorian,” Lillian said. “Chaol and I can’t be the only ones who don’t fall over ourselves to do what he wants.”

That made Nehemia laugh, as Lillian had intended, and she let Nehemia ask questions about what she might want at her party.

She mostly managed not to hum.


	2. Chapter 2

“I promise to be nice to Nehemia,” Dorian said. He was lounging on Lillian’s seldom-used bed, watching Elaine help her with her hair the day of the party. 

Elaine snorted, and Lillian grinned at her in the mirror. Since Elaine had moved into the little maid’s room off of Lillian’s bedroom, she’d become Lillian’s official lady’s maid and had the embroidery to show for it. It looked good with the soft cotton Lillian had decided on for her maids’ - though she only had one - summer livery. Since it had actually been Elaine who picked out the fabric with Lillian’s blessing it made sense, and the red panels were cut specifically to emphasize Elaine’s shape rather than the regular blocky rectangles of the general maids’ uniforms.

“I told her not to bother being nice to you,” Lillian informed him. “Elaine, you’re sure about the silver?”

Elaine gave a quick twist to another curl, wrapping it around a silver pin with a tiny beautifully detailed lily formed out of the wide end. “It will stand out in your hair,” she said stubbornly. 

Since the lily pin in question was tipped with tiny crystals that caught any light in the area, Lillian thought it would stand out anywhere, not just her hair, but that wasn’t the point. 

She was in blue, as was becoming her own and Dorian’s signature range of color. Since the party was as casual as it could be while being thrown by a princess, Lillian and Elaine had elected for a looser cut than Lillian wore to formal court functions and only one layer over her shift. The only place it was closely fitted at all was in the long sleeves and shoulders, which had tiny lines of white lace across the top and down to her wrists. Even the neckline was lower and looser than Lillian usually chose, exposing her collarbone and part of her largest scar from Endovier. She had long dispensed with the wigs that Kaltain had accidentally made fashionable, and court opinion was mixed on the subject.

The whole thing was a little bit funny to Lillian, who knew that the wigs were to hide the fact that Celaena’s natural hair had gone grey and was cut close around her scalp so no one could grab it in a fight. She’d tried to convince Lillian to do the same, but Lillian had dug in her heels. Her hair was only now approaching the length it had been before Endovier, and she was not cutting one of the few things her mother had been dead-set on about her appearance even if it might be a liability. 

Chaol poked his head in and sighed, as was becoming tradition.

_ “I’m  _ ready,” Dorian said.

“You’re wrinkling your clothes,” Elaine retorted. “If Lord Westfall doesn’t like how long it takes for my lady to get ready, he should help instead of judge.”

“Yes, Chaol,” Lillian said sweetly. “Help instead of judge. You always like the finished product.”

“I like you prior to dressing just as much,” Chaol said loftily, and winced when Dorian and Lillian snickered. “Not - why are you both like this.”

“Make Dorian get off the bed and I’ll stop teasing,” Lillian said.

“She won’t,” Dorian said. “You know it. Let me languish.”

“For how long?” Chaol asked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “My clothes may be _ boring-” _

“I said it once,” Lillian protested.

“- but they are neat,” he finished. “Don’t ruin Elaine’s hard work.”

Dorian groaned and sat up. “Low blow.”

“You said you had regular clothes,” Lillian said. “Do you really hate them so much?”

“They aren’t really party clothes,” Chaol admitted.

“You should have just said you hated them, end of discussion,” Dorian said. “Look, Lillian is already planning.”

“Brown,” Lillian said. “You think so, Elaine?”

“Not that awful brown the prince used to wear,” Elaine said. “A warmer one. Gold embroidery.”

“Can we go?” Chaol asked. “We’re going to be late.”

“The party is for Lillian,” Dorian said. “By definition, it doesn’t start until she walks in.”

Chaol looked at Lillian.

“I’m almost done, I promise,” she told him. She’d learned that Chaol did not like to be late, and in fact scheduled getting ready with the goal of being ten to fifteen minutes early to anything. Since Dorian routinely practiced small rebellions against his father in the form of lazing around until the last possible moment when not explicitly required to arrive at a specific time, if they went anywhere together they usually managed to be punctual.

Lillian herself liked being on time, but not at the expense of her outfit going unfinished. 

Elaine finished the last of the decorative pins, and had Lillian stand up and spin. Lillian obliged.

“Is that supposed to be sheer?” Chaol asked dubiously.

“It’s not  _ sheer,  _ it’s thin,” Elaine said. “That’s why the shift is so nice.”

“Don’t ruin Elaine’s hard work,” Dorian said.

“You are incredibly lucky I’m in love with you,” Chaol retorted. _“Please_ can we go?”

Lillian took his offered arm and let him lead her out, Dorian following cheerfully.

“I’m sorry if I sounded like I was judging your dress,” Chaol said halfway there. Lillian glanced at him: he stared stiffly ahead. “You look nice in it. You always look nice.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Lillian said. “I suppose I thought if you had silly opinions about how I dressed myself they would have showed up earlier. Also, you saw me naked  _ so often  _ before we started having sex.”

“In the halls,” Chaol muttered. “She says it out loud in the halls.”

His face was beet red. Lillian took pity on him. “I didn’t think you were judging me,” she said. “I know you know nothing about fashion.”

“Maybe you can wear just the dress later,” Dorian murmured, only loud enough for Chaol and Lillian to hear. Chaol’s face somehow turned even redder.

Lillian remembered suddenly her visit to Queen Georgina last year, and the sheer nightgown Dorian’s stepmother had been wearing, and the fact that Georgina had no keys to the doors in her own rooms.

“I don’t think I will,” Lillian said calmly. Chaol, cautious by nature, and Dorian, determined not to be like his father, tended to take the smallest sign of hesitance as an Absolutely Not, but Lillian wanted to be completely clear in this instance. She didn’t have an objection to sheer dresses in principle - she was wearing one now, after all, even if it was over a shift - but she also did not want to think about Georgina and the king at any point during any kind of intimacy. The helplessness of knowing she didn’t currently have a way to help Georgina tended to kill her mood.

Dorian hooked her free arm through his and patted her elbow at the same time Chaol shifted closer, looking down at her face. 

“I’m going to trip over one of you,” she said. “Then where will we be?”

“Late,” Chaol sighed, and quickened his pace so Dorian and Lillian had to too.


	3. Chapter 3

Nehemia might be the princess of an all-but-conquered country, and she might have confided to Lillian that she had set off to Adarlan without  _ technically  _ asking her father’s permission, but she was still a princess. The king’s steward had decided to err on the side of caution and give her some of the rooms reserved for visiting royalty, including a large receiving room that Nehemia hadn’t used at all last year. Nehemia didn’t throw many parties, partly as a consequence of not bringing a full retinue and therefore having to rely on the staff of the Glass Castle, but partly because she hadn’t been sure people would attend. She was a curiosity at court, with her Eyllwean dresses and her dark skin and tightly-curled hair, but no one had taken her seriously as a hostess or even a political force until she had stood up to the king in his own audience chamber wearing her own crown and dealt with him - and been dealt with - as a fellow royal. 

It meant she was important, even if she’d implied things the court didn’t like. It meant they couldn’t ignore her. That she’d appeared to get what she wanted was just a bonus.

Also, she was friends with the crown prince’s surprisingly popular mistress, which meant she presumably had the aforementioned crown prince’s ear.

Lillian suspected Amerie’s influence on the subject of her own popularity, since Lillian had only a little lighter skin than Nehemia, Eyllwean heritage (on her mother’s side), and curly hair, though hers was blonde to Nehemia’s black. Amerie had kept her word about throwing in her support for Dorian if Lillian scared her nephew out of the contest last year without killing him, only it seemed sometimes to Lillian as if Amerie had decided she was really throwing her support in behind Lillian. She supposed that since Lillian herself was an unquestioned supporter of Dorian, it amounted to… not quite the same thing.  _ Almost  _ the same thing. Maybe it was Amerie’s compromise between supporting her nephew Roland and keeping him alive.

Nehemia still didn’t throw many parties in her rooms, but since Lillian’s birthday was supposed to be informal and friendly - as informal and friendly as a birthday party thrown by a crown princess for the mistress of a crown prince could be - she’d opted for them instead of trying to reserve a receiving hall in the castle or city, as nobles who didn’t have large rooms or city residences did.

The attendees were all the younger set with the exception of Erick Rompier, who was, to Lillian’s surprise, chatting amicably with a young woman who wasn’t his daughter. Erick was in black like Chaol, but his clothes were closer-cut and designed to show off that he was leanly muscular while mostly hiding his knives. He also had apple blossoms pricked out in red and gold embroidery around all of his hems, and he wore a dangling ruby in one ear. As always, he’d let just enough strands escape his tied-back red hair to make it look as if he didn’t care.

He cared a lot. Lillian knew the kind of work that went into making hair look that carelessly good.

Beside her Chaol stiffened. “I didn’t know Lady Manon was going to be here.”

“I didn’t either,” Dorian protested, as if Chaol had accused him of something. 

“Former mistress?” Lillian asked.

“Former would-be  _ princess,”  _ Chaol said under his breath.

“She’s funny!” Dorian said, and winced when Chaol looked at him. “She’s a little bit mean. And she did want to marry me.”

Lillian tugged on Chaol’s sleeve until he looked back at her. “She’s a problem because…?”

Chaol sighed. “Admittedly I was less secure then, but she also didn’t like me.”

“She liked you fine, she’s just bad at sharing,” Dorian said, and appeared to realize that defending his former possible betrothed from his current lover might not be the wisest idea. “She wasn’t in love with me or anything, she just wanted to be queen. I might have let her if she wasn’t so against me and Chaol.”

“And you?” Lillian asked delicately. She was less insecure than Chaol had probably been then, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about the possibility of being involved simply to be a spouse who could produce children. She didn’t really think Dorian had looked at the available options and decided that Lillian was the woman Chaol would be able to stand, but the idea that there might be a pattern was new and unpleasant.

It was silly to worry - it wasn’t as if Chaol had made a secret of his affection for her - but still.

_ “Not  _ the same situation,” Chaol said firmly before Dorian could even open his mouth. 

Nehemia noticed they had arrived and swept in, interrupting and slipping Lillian’s arm from Dorian’s. Kaltain joined her on Lillian’s opposite side, neatly separating her from Chaol.

“Our guest of honor,” Nehemia called, smiling, and everyone else turned to look as Kaltain shot a vaguely threatening look in Chaol and Dorian’s direction.

“They weren’t doing anything wrong,” Lillian told the assassin in an undertone, but Celaena remained suspicious even as the courtiers converged.

Lillian greeted everyone cheerfully, even the ones who had snubbed Nehemia last year - Nehemia did, after all, and Lillian generally followed her lead in this sort of situation. Finally the three of them broke free and wandered to the refreshments.

The lady Manon stayed in the corner with Erick, but she watched Lillian. Her pale, pale hair - not grey like Celaena’s, just the near-white blonde that cropped up sometimes in the mountain fiefs - was long, pin-straight, and loose but for a silver comb worn high on her head. Her skin was nearly as pale. Lillian assumed that meant that her darker brows and lashes were, like Philippa’s and Kaltain’s, the result of cosmetics. Manon had painted her lips a deep red that matched her dress, which looked to be velvet.

Lillian wondered if Manon had received the notice that the party was supposed to be informal and decided that if she had she wouldn’t have cared. No one with nails kept that long on purpose, filed to points, and lacquered, again, red, cared about things like  _ expected dress code.  _

In her days at the shop, Lillian would have adored her no matter what her personality was. They could have had  _ conversations.  _ Did she color her nails to match her dress? The way the neckline lay - low and wide, no lace anywhere - made Lillian think the back was low too. 

“Who dresses Lady Manon?” Lillian asked in an undertone. “Does she design her own? Does she bring them, or does someone in the city-”

“You can always ask her, Lillian,” Nehemia replied, clearly amused.

“Maybe not,” Kaltain said. “If she’s rude to Lillian I’ll have to do something about it.”

“I forgot you mentioned you had something of a rivalry before she left,” Nehemia said.

“I just think that if your only ambition is to marry an Adarlanian prince your ambition is small,” Kaltain said. 

“Please say you didn’t tell her that,” Lillian begged.

Kaltain shrugged - not only had she, the shrug told Lillian, she had probably done it publicly and with as little tact as possible.

Nehemia sighed.

Lillian did not personally think wanting to be the eventual queen of a nation was a small ambition, but to Celaena, secretly Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, last remaining of that direct line of descent, the Adarlanian part probably made all the difference. Since Terrasen had only ever had ruling queens while Adarlan had only ever had ruling kings, Lillian supposed that might factor in as well. To Celaena, there were other ways to be queen. To Manon, there probably weren’t.

Nehemia was the Eyllwean crown princess by virtue of birth order, because in Eyllwe they practiced gender-neutral royal succession. 

Since she wasn’t even slightly royal, Lillian was free to think the Eyllwean way of doing things was best of the three, though she’d learned in the past few months that more people than she liked thought that Eyllwe had lost their war with Adarlan because they ‘let’ a woman rule. 

“Of course, it was my father who surrendered and Aunt Sarai who fought to the bitter end,” Nehemia had said carelessly when Lillian had asked as delicately as she knew how. “People will look for anything to uphold what they already believe.”

Now Nehemia said, “The queen mentioned that she might come by, if she is able. She might bring someone - she didn’t say who.”

Nesryn, maybe? Gwyneth? Lillian hadn’t gotten to know Nesryn or Dorian’s little sister well at all. More and more, Nesryn seemed to be absorbed into the tiny Gwyneth’s household, and Lillian had learned that outside of parties Dorian was rarely permitted to see the princess. He’d apparently hoped that might change or at least be circumvented by the appointment of Nesryn as her nurse, but so far the guards the king kept on the royal nursery were as vigilant as those on his rooms.

Lillian wanted to have words with the improbably named Bill Chastain, Commander of the Royal Guard, but she somehow doubted pointing out the cruelty of enforcing orders to keep a now three year old little girl from seeing her brother and mother would have much of an effect. Chaol had an ongoing feud with the man too, which wouldn’t help.

Of course, Lillian herself could sneak in through a window, but she wasn’t sure how Nesryn or Gwyneth would feel about it, or how many other nurses there might be to report or complain.

Lillian nibbled the food - blander versions of Eyllwean recipes, her father’s would have been better with his notes on her aunts’ cooking - and sipped heavily watered wine, continuing to chat and acknowledge anyone who passed by. Lady Manon never did, which Lillian felt a little bit badly about: she didn’t want to deny anybody  _ food.  _

After half an hour or so of that she moved to the open windows for fresh air, glad she’d worn a light fabric. Anyone who hadn’t was sweating noticeably. Coincidentally, Chaol and Dorian had staked out a spot there.

“Lillian,” Dorian said with relief when she joined them, and she realized they seemed to have expected her to be angry with them. Thinking back, she also realized that Dorian specifically had avoided being anywhere near Manon, as if her presence near him would upset Lillian or Chaol.

“We need to talk when we aren’t at a party,” Lillian told him. “I’m not angry, I just want to clear a few things up.”

Even Chaol relaxed. Lillian didn’t know why they expected her to be angry or upset with Dorian, and wondered if maybe Manon, who didn’t like to share, had been more inclined toward those particular reactions.

“How does this compare to your father’s?” Chaol asked, hefting one of the little pastry pockets filled with simmered tomato and vegetables.

“They left out the chilis,” Lillian replied, though otherwise they tasted fine, probably. The palace cooks would have access to spices. It wasn’t the first time Lillian wished Nehemia had brought a full train of attendants, but it might be for the silliest reason - she missed proper stews and flatbreads and pickled lemons especially. 

Dorian made a thoughtful noise as he nibbled on the edge of another. They were cold: it looked like Chaol and Dorian had gotten food to keep their hands full and then done nothing but worry. Lillian shook her head and leaned in to kiss each of them on the cheek in quick succession before turning back to the party in time to see Georgina enter.

The queen was in pale pink, one of Lillian’s favorite colors on her, with a higher neckline than she usually sported. The rest of the dress was nevertheless cut to emphasize her figure, which Lillian approved of. If you liked your body you should get to show it off with the best tailoring available, and if you didn’t, well. Hopefully the best tailoring available would let you wear something that made you feel better about it.

She was so pleased by Georgina wearing anything but royal white that it took her a moment to notice the young woman Georgina pulled into the room with her: beside Georgina, looking vaguely out onto the party, was the young woman Lillian had last seen in the king of Adarlan’s quarters when he’d told her he wanted Lillian to work for him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Lillian took a moment and a sip of her wine before saying casually to Dorian, “Your stepmother brought your father’s mistress to the party. I was beginning to think I’d hallucinated her.”

Dorian’s head snapped over. He hadn’t seen the woman before, and neither had Chaol: whoever she was, she’d stayed firmly in the king’s rooms and did not socialize. Lillian hadn’t even heard other courtiers mention her, though that might have been willful ignorance on their part. Nobody had asked Philippa.

“She seems fine?” Chaol said.

“She seems out of character for him,” Dorian said grimly, which Lillian had to admit was fair. Philippa, Georgina, and Adeline were all redheaded and busty, as Leanne had been. Lillian didn’t know about the king’s other mistresses, but four were definitely enough to make a pattern. This woman, blonde, small-chested, and bearing a passing resemblance to Lillian in build and face shape if not skin color or nose shape - Lillian’s was wide and low-bridged, and this woman’s was tiny and pointed - did not fit the pattern.

“Does she look a little bit like someone we know?” Lillian asked, trying to sound mildly curious.

“No,” Chaol said. His tone was as grim as Dorian’s, and he took a firm hold of Lillian’s arm. “She absolutely does not.”

“Come on, Lillian, not all blondes look alike,” Dorian added, failing to sound as light-hearted as she knew he wanted to. He moved to block her view of his stepmother and the woman.

His plans were foiled. Lillian could see Georgina spot her from the door and lead her tagalong towards them on a winding path, stopping as Lillian had to speak to the other guests and -

“She’s introducing her,” Lillian commented. 

“Georgina,” Dorian hissed under his breath, note of desperation loud and clear anyway. “Do  _ not  _ make replacing you easier.”

“We can move,” Chaol said.

“I’m not ignoring Georgina,” Lillian said. “She’s obviously trying to be nice.”

She smiled as Dorian’s stepmother arrived at the window, and kicked Dorian’s ankle lightly.

“Lady Mother,” he said, turning with a wide smile of his own. “I didn’t know you’d be coming.”

“I couldn’t miss Lillian’s birthday,” Georgina said, looking fondly at all three of them. “We didn’t get to celebrate last year! Lillian, Chaol, Dorian, this is Remelle. Remelle, my stepson, Lady Lillian, Lord Chaol.”

Remelle bobbed a curtsy to Dorian. “Your Highness.”

Lillian admitted that it was a graceful one, and Remelle’s pale blue dress made her blue eyes stand out and complimented the rest of her coloring.

Who chose Remelle’s dress, exactly? How many were blue, like so many of Lillian’s dresses? Lillian wore them partly because she looked good in a wide range of blues and partly to make Kaltain’s fondness seem more fashionable. She had the sneaking suspicion that Remelle wore blue because it was what she had been given.

“Lillian,” Georgina continued doggedly after no one else said anything, “I was hoping maybe Remelle could ride with you and the princess in the mornings. She isn’t comfortable on horses yet, she tells me, but I think the fresh air would be good for her.”

“I suppose I am the person to ride with if you aren’t comfortable on horses,” Lillian said. “I’m not very practiced myself. Are you from the city, Remelle?”

“Oh,” Remelle said, blinking as if startled to be spoken to further. Her voice had a wispy, dreamlike quality to it, as if her mind was on other things. “No, I’m not from Rifthold.”

Another silence ensued.

“Dorian, why don’t you take Remelle to the refreshments table,” Lillian said brightly.

Dorian shot her a look. She shot him a look back. He plastered a smile on his face and offered his arm to Remelle, and off they went.

“Majesty,” Chaol began, and Georgina sighed.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t think what else to do!”

“Did he ask you to show her around?” Lillian asked. She didn’t like that nobody had to clarify who  _ he  _ was.

“No,” Georgina said. “She’s been in his rooms for  _ months,  _ Lillian. She never goes anywhere. I don’t think she has any friends. She doesn’t seem unhappy, exactly? She seems to want to be here. But I - I don’t know. It’s not her fault he brought her here. I could hate her, I suppose, but I thought - I don’t know, I thought, what would Lillian do, and I thought you’d try to be her friend.”

Lillian looked to Chaol for help in dealing with this assertion, but he had a rueful look on his face.

“She’s not wrong,” he said. “I bet you’re worried about Manon right now too.”

“I just want to know who made her dress,” Lillian protested.

At the same time Georgina said, “Oh, I heard Manon was back. You shouldn’t worry, Lillian, Dorian was only engaged to her for political reasons. It didn’t last, and I think she has designs on Kaltain’s father anyway.”

_ “Actually  _ engaged,” Lillian said blandly, continuing to look at Chaol, before the second bit hit. “She thinks she can snag  _ Erick?” _

“He’s reasonably good looking, he’s not old, he’s rich, and he has the king’s ear,” Georgina said. “Well, moderately.”

_ Reasonably? _ Lillian thought. She admitted she was biased because Erick’s clothes were always excellent, but she’d thought he was better looking than  _ reasonable -  _ that wasn’t the point. Manon could lay siege to that impenetrable fortress if she wanted. Maybe she wore red tonight because she wanted to look like an apple.

That was unfair. Lillian should not allow the fact that Manon had  _ actually  _ been engaged to Dorian to sour her feelings towards the woman. Clearly they weren’t engaged anymore.

“You didn’t like her,” she said to Chaol, reviewing what they’d said in the hallway. Dorian hadn’t said anything about not being engaged. Chaol had said she was a would-be princess. 

“I did not like her,” he agreed, an edge back in his voice.

Georgina looked like she wanted to shrink but couldn’t in full view of the party, eyes darting back and forth between Lillian and Chaol. “I’m sorry,” she said meekly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Lillian remembered that feeling from the early months after Endovier. She didn’t like seeing someone else be afraid because she didn’t like the information they’d given her.

“I’m not upset with you,” she assured Georgina, who still watched them warily. “I’m not even really upset with Dorian, I promise. I just misunderstood something. Also, I think both of you think I’m nicer than I actually am.”

Georgina watched her for half a second before she giggled into her palm. 

“I know,” Chaol said.

“What?” Lillian asked.

He kissed her on the cheek, smiling again. “Don’t worry about it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes, Celaena Sardothien, known to most as Kaltain Rompier, wanted to kill people.

It was different than when she was  _ asked  _ to kill someone. That was just business. Wanting to kill someone was rare, by and large, though it had become less rare recently.  _ Why  _ it had become less rare was not a mystery, but it was mysterious anyway: she generally wanted to kill people who were rude to Nehemia or Lillian. That she cared enough about them to, well, care, was the mysterious part. 

Celaena simply wasn’t good at caring. She knew this about herself. Erick cared so much for Terrasen and Celaena’s birthright, and Celaena remembered so little of Terrasen that she thought she should probably be ashamed of herself. Erick liked to talk about the orchards as if Celaena should remember walking in them, but she looked back and there was a void.

No, that wasn’t true. Celaena remembered Helan, and how she had pulled her out of the fire.

“Take Aelin, Arobynn,” Celaena still heard sometimes in her dreams. “I have to get Tam. I’ll be back soon.”

Only she hadn’t had to go get Tam, because Helan had been fourteen and a child, and Tam had probably already been dead, and she hadn’t come back either.

People died, often because Celaena killed them. It really wasn’t worth getting attached.

Which was why it made no sense that she had somehow collected two errant do-gooders and gave a damn about what happened to them.

“Is Lillian alright?” Nehemia asked in Eyllwean. Her hand on Celaena’s elbow was warm. Everything about Nehemia was warm, seemingly, both literally and figuratively. She was also extremely pretty, which Celaena continued to be annoyed with herself for noticing.

“Is Manon causing trouble?” Celaena asked in the same language. “Or is it one of her lovers? I can’t imagine putting up with either of them.”

_ “Kaltain,”  _ Nehemia said, chiding, but she was smiling a little. “Lillian likes them, though who knows why.”

“I suppose growing up here would give her a tolerance for the products,” Celaena said. She wasn’t sure yet why it was annoying for Nehemia to call her Kaltain. It was as much her name as Celaena was, and it didn’t bother her when Lillian called her either name.

Lillian only bothered her when Celaena was reminded that Lillian had gone to Endovier instead of her, because the king of Adarlan thought Celaena was useful. ‘Bother’ was too mild a term, but anything else made her feel as if her insides were squirming, and it wasn’t really Lillian’s fault.

Caring about people was confusing. She could only imitate Lillian so far - she wasn’t brave enough to go all-in.

Nehemia, who was brave enough for whole armies, said, “Do you know who the queen brought?”

“The new mistress,” Celaena replied. Erick had been interested academically - he was only ever interested academically, he was of no help whatsoever with this caring business - but hadn’t thought it would change much, except that it might annoy Lillian. Why would it annoy Lillian? Erick hadn’t said. Celaena should have asked.

“Were you planning to tell me or Lillian about that?” Nehemia asked.

Celaena was too embarrassed to say that she hadn’t thought to do it already, so she shrugged. No one had  _ asked,  _ how was she supposed to know what Nehemia and Lillian might want to know about who the king was sleeping with currently? The woman was barely a noble, spoke to no one aside from the king and apparently Georgina so far as Celaena could tell, and didn’t seem to be in distress in the king’s company. The last was definitely a mark against her in Celaena’s book. Even Erick was tense in the king’s company, though Celaena still wasn’t convinced he was afraid so much as restraining himself from slipping a knife in under the king’s ear or some poison into the king’s wineglass.

Why he practiced such restraint was yet another mystery, but it didn’t seem fair for Celaena to do something about it when it was Erick’s plans that had kept her alive and relatively safe for the past decade and a half. She’d thought first that maybe  _ Lillian  _ could do something about it instead, but Celaena no longer wanted her to: what if it didn’t work, and something happened to Lillian instead?

At that thought she cast a look at Lillian herself, who stood talking to the queen and the king’s mistress with the prince and his guard captain ranged as if they were guarding her back. Celaena grudgingly admitted that at least they had some sense - Lillian, like Nehemia, was too nice. She didn’t suspect people of trying to murder her unless they were actively trying in the moment. The prince and the captain might not be up to Celaena’s standards of readiness, but they could at least get in the way of any weapons pointed in Lillian’s direction.

As for Nehemia, Celaena would have to be the one to get in the way. Her guards were watchful, and Celaena appreciated that, but nobody watched Nehemia’s windows at all even though Nehemia knew Lillian at least used them as easy access to all sorts of places. Sleeping on Nehemia’s window ledge was probably a bad idea, but Celaena hadn’t come up with any others, and anyway nobody had seen her yet. At least Lillian knew how to be ruthless in a fight, even if she  _ refused  _ sometimes.

Nehemia wanted Adarlan to burn to the ground in theory. In practice she still had her resistance fighters spare their prisoners when possible. Celaena thought it was stupid but entirely in keeping with Nehemia’s strange belief in  _ people.  _

People were disappointing. For instance: Nehemia didn’t know it yet, but Celaena had already disappointed her on multiple fronts, not least Celaena’s apparently entirely unforgivable allowance of Lillian’s fate. She didn’t think the argument that she hadn’t known Lillian yet would hold much weight with Nehemia.

“Kaltain,” Nehemia prodded.

“It didn’t seem relevant,” Celaena said. “She won’t last. The mistresses never do. The  _ wives  _ barely do.”

Nehemia’s mouth tightened, which meant Celaena had said something insensitive again. “Leanne was from Terrasen,” Nehemia pointed out.

As she didn’t remember the orchards, Celaena didn’t remember Leanne, for all they had been distant cousins. Aelin had had many distant cousins.

And like Aelin, most of the cousins were dead. 

Erick didn’t like it when she talked like that, but he also didn’t like it when she called him Arobynn. 

“You saying it,” he’d tried to explain once, “means you give up. Your sister wouldn’t have given up.”

Helan hadn’t had to give up, because Helan had died with Tam. Whatever she would have done didn’t matter. Celaena was all that was left, and even if she had still been Aelin she would have been a poor substitute.

“Leanne was from Terrasen and Leanne is dead,” Celaena said in her best airy court tones. “Her son doesn’t seem inclined to care.”

Nehemia, attention successfully diverted, returned to staring at Lillian and her prince and captain. “My father sent me a missive.”

“Did he send attendants and more guards?” Celaena asked. She didn’t like Nadav Ytger. She hadn’t  _ met  _ him, but she didn’t like him: he seemed intent on undermining everything Nehemia did with  _ caution,  _ as he had dishonored his sister’s sacrifice with capitulation. 

“He did not,” Nehemia said peaceably. “My mother and brothers are doing well, and the king of Adarlan has suggested marrying me off to his son.”

“I’ll get rid of him,” Celaena said immediately. “Window, poison, knife, do you have a preference?”

“Which him?” Nehemia inquired. She sounded amused. “No, I think this needs to play out. I should speak to Lillian, though. I hope she won’t be too offended.”

“You are not marrying an Adarlanian prince,” Celaena hissed. “I will kill every person in this castle if I have to, Nehemia,  _ I mean it.”  _

Nehemia patted her on the shoulder.

Celaena continued to forget that Nehemia didn’t know she had killed plenty of people. She gritted her teeth against saying so - it would involve telling her that Kaltain was Celaena, and Celaena, Nehemia had been clear, was unforgivable. Lillian was less immovable on the subject, so maybe if Celaena managed to make Lillian forgive her completely Nehemia would think everything was fine.

To that end, Celaena had some ideas.


	6. Chapter 6

Dorian had to attend morning services for Mala, goddess of the sun and therefore all seasons, and had actually dragged himself out of bed before Lillian and Chaol to join the king and a few other officials for the pre-dawn vigil. Lillian had ignored it - as with Samhuinn, her mother had cared little for Adarlanian religious customs, though Leah had enjoyed sleeping in on the two days practically guaranteed to have late or no customers. Her father had respected Mala, but not enough to brave the crush at the city temples. Lillian would join in when the festivities started at dusk and everyone celebrated the goddess’ supremacy by staying up through the shortest night and greeting her at dawn again.

Apparently Celaena didn’t care about Mala’s preferred season, despite what Lillian had heard about Terrasenian worship and the fact that she believed Mala was her whatever-number-of-greats aunt, sort of. 

“Where are we going?” Lillian asked as Kaltain led her through the castle. She wasn’t usually taken anywhere by Celaena in Kaltain garb: instead Celaena tended to drag her through secret tunnels or dusty tombs or around the castle halls in servants’ clothes to figure out the best ways to murder different nobles.

“The city,” Kaltain said. 

“Are there more secret tunnels?” Lillian asked. “I think I should have known about them before, if people could have used them to get into the castle-”

“If you want to move around the city relatively unseen you dress in rags and use the sewers,” Kaltain said. “I’ll show you where I keep clean clothes.”

“And we’re walking?” Lillian was hopeful.

“No,” Kaltain said, leading her to the stables. “Two noble ladies walking is more noticeable than two noble ladies out on horses. You cannot bring the dog.”

Lillian closed her mouth, pretending she hadn’t been about to ask. She’d seen Glory at dawn this morning, but the dog might like to explore the city.

They waited for their horses. Kaltain’s mare Hisli was just as fractious as always, and Pumpkin, Lillian’s gelding, let his head droop as if exhausted by her antics. He was happy enough to follow his stablemate though, especially when he realized they wouldn’t be galloping anywhere today.

Lillian waved to the grooms as she and Kaltain started off.

“So where are we going?” she asked again, nudging Pumpkin up beside Hisli, where he tried to rub his forehead on the mare's shoulder companionably. Hisli nipped him and he danced away, ears at odd angles and head thrown back in surprise.

“I don’t know why you’re shocked,” Lillian told him severely. “She does that all the time.”

The horse heaved a sigh.

Lillian grew suspicious when Kaltain led her away from the four main faestone-paved roads and onto the human-made ones. The smaller roads had probably been white once upon a time, but who-knew-how-many centuries of use had worn and pitted them, and driven dirt in so deep that even the occasional pet cleaning project funded by nobles or well-off merchants could only make them lighter grey. In poorer districts they disappeared under the dirt entirely. 

In Lillian’s old neighborhood, everyone was responsible for the streets around their businesses and homes - most doubled as both - and the shade of grey depended heavily on the free time and number of children or hired hands involved. 

In front of the Gordainas’ shop, they had made time for cleaning the stoop. No noble wanted to dirty slippers or hems in front of a dress shop.

The stoop was cleaner now than it had been when Lillian had been tasked with the job, Lillian realized as Kaltain drew to a halt in front of it. Almost as clean as the rich neighborhoods, in fact. The shops to either side seemed to have taken it as a challenge.

“What are we doing here, Kaltain,” Lillian said flatly.

“I need to check on my solstice dress,” Kaltain said, equally flatly. “I was promised it would be ready this morning.”

“Were you?” Lillian demanded. “Because this looks  _ a great deal  _ as if you were ambushing me with my past just to be difficult.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Kaltain said, dismounting and leading Hisli to a hitch. It was new, and there was a hanging pail of water next to it. “I am not a difficult person.”

Lillian was going to kill her. She was going to kill her and hide her body somewhere in the tunnels, maybe down with the other skeletons in Chaol and Dorian’s escape route. 

Kaltain, supremely unbothered by the flat stare Lillian levelled at her back, walked into the shop, which meant Lillian would have to wait to trample her with Pumpkin.

_ Well, _ Lillian thought.  _ You can’t kill her from outside the shop. I suppose this had to happen sometime. _

A little bit of warning would have been nice, though.

She dismounted. She led Pumpkin to the second hitch. She tied him up.

_ One step at a time, Lillian,  _ she thought, smoothing her skirts, and stepped into the shop.

* * *

It smelled the same, was her first thought. Her parents had always tucked sachets of lavender in amongst the fabrics, and hung the dried herb in corners. The practice didn’t seem to have changed. The counter with her father’s stool behind it was still there. Lillian would bet that they still organized fabrics the same way: weight and then color.

Ahead of her Kaltain walked with sure strides to the door of the fitting room, which doubled as a workroom in a pinch. She knocked and poked her head inside.

“Really, my lady,” Lillian heard a vaguely familiar voice chide. “What if we’d been fitting someone?”

“You weren’t,” Kaltain said, backing away from the door. “Mistress Gordaina?”

“Finishing your hem,” the voice replied, following her out. “She always keeps her promises, you know that. She’s got the children and the master holding…”

Melora of the shoddy fitting trailed off at the sight of Lillian. After a moment, she dropped a shallow curtsy.

“Don’t bother,” Kaltain said. “Lillian isn’t much for formality.”

“That,” Melora said primly, “has not been my experience.”

Lillian shot a look at Kaltain, who frowned. “You’ve met?”

“We had an unfortunate argument over proper materials,” Lillian said. “I see the stock is… restocked.”

“She won’t be happy you brought the prince’s mistress,” Melora told Kaltain. “Not if she’s mixed up with that guard captain too, like they say. You  _ know  _ how she feels about the guard.”

“I offered to kill whichever ones she wanted,” Kaltain said. “If she wanted me to go through with it she should have agreed last year. Now Lillian is  _ attached. _ ” 

Melora eyed Lillian with distaste. Lillian returned the favor.

“I’ll let her know you’re here,” Melora said grudgingly, and slipped through another curtain-covered door in the back. It hadn’t been there two years ago.

“Master Gordaina has trouble with stairs,” Kaltain said. “The mistress had a room added on back, since they weren’t using the space.”

“Do they let out the rooms upstairs?” Lillian asked.

“The girls and children use them,” Kaltain replied.

_ Girls? Children? _

As if in answer, a redheaded blur shot out of the door to the stairwell and halfway through the main room of the shop before noticing Lillian or Kaltain. The shape resolved into a small redheaded girl in well-made and sturdy leggings and long tunic. Both were bright green.

“My ladies,” she said, accent pure Adarlanian Noble. “Have you been helped yet?”

“Melora has it under control,” Kaltain said, as Lillian gawped at one of the daughters of Rickard Havilliard. How on earth did the daughter of a nobleman executed for treason end up in  _ Lillian’s parents’ dress shop?  _

The girl started to curtsy, remembered she was wearing a tunic and leggings, and stumbled only a little when she turned it into a bow. “Then I’ll get this to Mistress Gordaina, if you’ll excuse me.”

She moved off again, this time with a more decorum, and vanished behind the curtained door.

“What,” Lillian said blankly.

“Your parents were looking for some extra hands,” Kaltain said, sounding embarrassed. “I thought Lysandra and the girls would at least know the basics of sewing, and the boy could be taught.”

_ “What,”  _ Lillian said again, but the door opened and her mother backed into the room, laughing at something said by someone on the other side.

“Kaltain,” Leah Gordaina said as she turned around, “I thought I said that if you were going to bring me new customers they should be Princess Nehemia. Unless we have another noblewoman down on her luck - I admit Lysandra is an asset when it comes to embroidery.”

She hadn’t really looked at Lillian yet, and Lillian was surprised to realize that her mother was  _ teasing  _ Kaltain.

“She’s almost as good as Nehemia,” Kaltain said. “She’s better at sewing than Lysandra though, I think.”

Lillian might have been insulted - Kaltain only  _ thought  _ she was better at sewing than Lysandra? - but she was busy staring at her mother.

Leah Gordaina had more lines on her face than when Lillian had seen her last, and her dress was a touch more low-cut to advertise that she was well able to manage current court fashions, thank you. She had lost weight: Lillian remembered her with a soft stomach and softer curves, perfect for hugs and the most beautiful woman she’d ever known. Leah didn’t fit slim court fashions still, but her face was thinner. Dark brown skin, tight black curls, and brown eyes were still set off to advantage by a warm maroon dress with simple white lotus embroidery around the neck, waist, and hem. 

Lillian realized she had faded back behind Kaltain without meaning to, which was silly. She wasn’t afraid of her  _ mother.  _

Leah looked past Kaltain with a raised eyebrow. “It’s a wonder the nobles need my services with such skilled seamstresses amongst them,” she said. “Your friend wasn’t shy with Melora, why is she now?”

Kaltain frowned over her shoulder at Lillian. “All the things you’ve done, and this is what stops you?” she asked, and, well. She had a point. Lillian straightened her back, smoothed down her skirts, and stepped back out.

“Hello, Mama,” she said.

“Lillian,” her mother said blankly. 

“I’m home,” Lillian said, half a question, and had to leap forward to catch her mother when she swayed. Leah’s hands clutched Lillian’s tightly - she had the same calluses, from needlework and staff work - and she stared.

“I’m home,” Lillian said again, more firmly to cover up that she was frightened by her mother’s sudden seeming frailness. To Kaltain she said, “You didn’t think warning her would help?”

“I didn’t think of it,” Kaltain admitted grudgingly, and moved to the tapestried door. 

Lillian didn’t hear what Kaltain said - she was too busy clutching at her mother’s hands and assuring her, over and over, that she was here, really - and then her father came out in a blur and fell into both of them and Lillian clutched at both her parents, finally, after all the years, and didn’t know what she had been worried about.


	7. Chapter 7

“I warned him,” Kaltain pointed out. Everyone else - Lillian had counted two children other than Evangeline, plus Melora and Lysandra, where had the infant gone? - had poked their heads in, established that no one was being harmed, and backed back into the rooms from whence they came. Kaltain, though she didn’t look comfortable by any means, had closed the front door and locked it, hovering by the counter.

_ “Moments  _ of warning don’t count, Kaltain,” Lillian said. Her voice was hoarse from crying. Elaine would be so upset that her face was swollen.

“Sometimes moments are all you get,” Kaltain retorted, and frowned, presumably realizing she sounded a little too much like Lillian’s assassin tutor instead of Lillian’s noble friend.

“I don’t care about warnings,” Leah said, pulling out a handkerchief and carefully wiping her eyes and nose. The handkerchief also had tiny lotus embroidery around the edge, Lillian noticed. Her mother hadn’t used to use Eyllwe’s heraldry so much.

Brendan, leaning heavily against the counter now, also had lotuses on the cuffs of his undershirt and hem of his tunic. “I do prefer them,” he admitted, voice as hoarse as Lillian’s. “Though I admit we probably would have been hammering on the castle doors if we’d heard sooner.”

Kaltain gestured at Lillian, as if to say  _ there you go _ .

“True,” Leah said, and stuffed her kerchief into a pocket. “Well, with the royal celebrations the prince will be busy. We can get a ride with some of the merchants - they owe me favors. Your aunts won’t mind hiding us, though I might have to talk quickly to get them to accept Lysandra and the children-”

“What?” Lillian asked.

“Oh, it won’t be too hard, they won’t turn the children out even if they grumble, and all I’ll have to do is get Lysandra started on the king.”

“I’ll get packing,” Brendan said, shoving off the counter with a small grimace.

“What?” Lillian asked again, helplessly. Kaltain seemed as confused as she was.

“We aren’t going to  _ leave you there,”  _ Leah said, horror evident in her tone. “Lili, did you think we would? You don’t have to go back now, though admittedly if he gave you anything good we could pawn it.”

“What did you  _ tell  _ them?” Lillian demanded of Kaltain.

“Nothing,” Kaltain said. “I didn’t tell them we were coming, do you think I told them anything else?”

That was fair, Lillian supposed.

“I’m not leaving,” she told her parents, both of whom paused.

“Are you afraid?” Brendan asked. “Because he won’t be able to find you with your aunts unless he sends an army, and forgive me if I’m minimizing anything, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of prince to do that.”

“Afraid of  _ Dorian?”  _ Lillian asked blankly, before remembering that Nehemia had been worried too, and Lillian herself had been afraid of Dorian at the beginning. She’d gotten so used to Chaol and Dorian that she’d forgotten what their relationship might look like to someone outside.

“I’m not leaving,” she said again, firmly. “Please sit, and I’ll explain.”

Her father, grudgingly, sat on his stool. Leah leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

“If you aren’t being kept,” Leah said delicately, “then why -”

She stopped, swallowed, and stood straight again. “Why didn’t you come home, or contact us, or tell us where you were? Didn’t you want to?”

_ Oh,  _ Lillian thought. She’d been hurt that Melora existed. It made sense that her parents would be hurt if they thought she hadn’t wanted to see them.

“She was indisposed,” Kaltain said, stiff and formal. 

“I was in a salt mine for two years,” Lillian elaborated. “They thought I was an assassin.”

Her parents exchanged glances.

“I’m not!” Lillian said.

“Yes you are,” said Lysandra, who had slipped back into the main room.

“I wasn’t at the time,” Lillian amended. “How did  _ you  _ know?”

Lysandra lifted her chin. “Did you think Rosamund and I sat around doing nothing the entire time? You didn’t know Rose very well.”

_ I might have liked to,  _ Lillian thought, since the woman had clearly lied to the king of Adarlan’s face and gotten away with it. 

She remembered kneeling in Rosamund’s blood and amended,  _ mostly got away with it.  _

Behind Lysandra, three children poked their heads through the door. The little boy carried the infant Lillian had wondered about.

“I didn’t know she was your daughter or I’d have said something when I got here,” Lysandra continued, and looked at Kaltain through narrow eyes. “How did you know?”

“Sorry,” Kaltain said, not sounding remotely sorry, “I don’t share information with cowards who let their friends die for them.”

Lysandra jerked as if she’d been hit, fists clenching in her skirts. “Tell me that when you have people relying on you,” she said calmly anyway. “It didn’t stop you getting me here.”

Kaltain snorted. “Don’t thank me. Nehemia was worried. Of course, that was before she knew -”

“Enough,” Leah said, and Kaltain cut herself off. Leah was looking past Lysandra, at the children. “Evangeline, Idonie - why don’t you take Betrice and Nataniel upstairs. Your mothers loved you, and that’s all you need to take away from this conversation.”

Evangeline moved up beside Lysandra and clung instead of going anywhere, and Lysandra smoothed her hair. “I’ll be back after I’ve put Bee and Nate down for a nap, and we can decide whether or not to pack up.”

“Yes, let’s worry about the sleeping habits of Havilliard children,” Kaltain muttered, quietly enough that Lillian barely heard her, which made Lillian look the children over with a more critical eye as Lysandra led them upstairs: they didn’t  _ look  _ much like the royal branch of the Havilliards, except maybe Idonie, who had presumably inherited Lysandra’s dark hair and light eyes. The others all had brown eyes and light hair, though Lillian supposed the baby’s hair could darken.

She wondered if Philippa knew where they were. Maybe not, if Celaena had been the one to get them here, though Lysandra wasn’t a common name and no one seemed to call her anything else.

“Nehemia knows they’re here?” Lillian asked.

“No,” Kaltain said. “Nehemia knows I found a good place for them.”

She made a face. “This is the only place I know that’s good, really.”

“That’s sad,” Brendan informed her. “You can come with us when we flee the country if you like.”

“I can’t leave Nehemia,” Kaltain said, and narrowed her eyes at Lillian’s father. “Don’t start.”

“She’s never going to know you like her if you don’t tell her,” he said anyway, as if this was advice he’d given a hundred times. 

“She’s my friend,” Kaltain said. If Lillian didn’t know better, she’d say Kaltain sounded petulant.

Brendan snorted.

The world was not how Lillian pictured it if her father was giving Kaltain advice on  _ liking  _ Nehemia, which, upon reflection, was something Lillian should have picked up on herself. Next she was going to learn that Erick was actually sleeping with the king. He did like redheads.

She shuddered at the thought and said, “No, I’m really not leaving. I have a job to do and a prince to keep alive.”

“That does not explain why you didn’t tell us  _ you _ were alive,” Leah said sternly. “A salt mine? An assassin? You said two years, it’s been more than three, Lillian.”

‘I was busy’ probably wouldn’t cover it, and it wasn’t the real reason either. Fear was a stupid emotion, Lillian reflected. It so often made no sense.

“Lili,” her father said carefully. “Did you think we wouldn’t want you back?”

“No!” Lillian exclaimed. “I mean. Not really. I was scared people would find out I wasn’t Celaena, and then I was just scared, and then I just - didn’t know how. And you had Melora, who, by the way, cannot measure worth beans, and that fabric was horrible-”

Leah snickered, and Brendan ducked his head. Lillian narrowed her eyes at them.

“Melora is very good at what she does,” Leah said, straight-faced. “I admit nobody in the shop was eager to help anybody to do with the Glass Castle.”

Lillian gestured at Kaltain.

“She’s from Terrasen,” Brendan said, shrugging. “She isn’t exactly a  _ friend  _ of the Havilliards.”

_ Unlike your daughter,  _ Lillian thought a little guiltily.

“You weren’t this radical when I was still here,” she said instead of commenting.

“Funny how losing your daughter, having people tell you multiple times that nobody cares, and learning that other people had the same experience will sour you on things worse than you already were,” her mother said. “Even the guards who used to serve with your father told him they couldn’t help.”

“Oh, couldn’t, wouldn’t,” Brendan said carelessly, though his eyes had gone dark and implacable. “What’s the difference? It wasn’t like I was an officer. Fuck Bill anyway.”

Lillian had never heard her father swear in her life, but she supposed she understood if he was swearing about Bill Chastain. Chaol often swore about Bill Chastain. Lillian herself wasn’t best pleased with Bill Chastain, given that it was his orders that had her hauled in for the joke trial that convicted her of being Celaena and had her sent to Endovier.

Technically the city guard and the royal guard were two different bodies, but Bill Chastain had managed to get himself put in charge of both of them a few years after he returned from Terrasen. She hadn’t realized her father had served with him. She wondered if he knew, later, that he’d sent the daughter of - well, friend was probably the wrong word. She wondered if he knew he’d sent the daughter of someone he knew to the salt mines.

Celaena, who probably knew all these things, said while looking at Lillian, “He can fall out a window.”

“If I want Bill Chastain pushed out a window for my honor I can do it myself,” Lillian said, and remembered she was talking to Celaena as if she was an assassin in front of her parents, for whom all of this information was new.

“If we aren’t leaving I should finish hemming Kaltain’s dress,” Leah said into the silence. “Lillian, do you have anything to wear?”

Lillian, thinking back to the dress Elaine was probably still obsessing over even though it fit perfectly and didn’t have a stitch out of place, said, “Yes. It’s very red.”

“For summer solstice? How original,” Leah said, sarcasm evident. “Even Erick is wearing red, and we couldn’t even tone it down for his hair this time.”

“Criminal,” Lillian commiserated. “Dorian keeps wearing white to formal functions.”

“Tell him he needs to know how to dress to see my daughter,” Leah said. “Tell me the rest of this while we finish Kaltain’s dress.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Visit,” Leah instructed, when Kaltain and Lillian were back on their horses. Kaltain had a box strapped to the back of her saddle with her own and Erick’s clothes for the evening.

“We aren’t afraid of whatever you think we are,” Brendan added. “We love you.”

Nobody said anything like what they had in the shop over the half hour it had taken to finish Kaltain’s dress. The street was not as safe as somewhere filled with people who hated the king.

“I love you too,” Lillian said. She was absolutely not going to cry again. “I’ll come back when I can.”

She craned her head to watch them wave goodbye as Pumpkin followed Hisli and Kaltain back to the wide faestone road and the Glass Castle at the end.

* * *

“I was trying to be nice,” Kaltain said abruptly, when they could no longer see the shop. “If I didn’t manage, tell me so I can try something different.”

_ You were trying to make up for letting me be sent to Endovier,  _ Lillian thought but did not say.  _ You haven’t figured out yet that it’s not really something you can make up for, or that it almost doesn’t matter.  _ The thought was contradictory but true nonetheless. There wasn’t any action to cosmically balance standing by while Lillian was sent to Endovier. There wasn’t anything to stop Lillian caring about Celaena either, or to stop Celaena caring about Lillian.

“You were being kind,” Lillian said. “It’s not the same thing as nice, but it’s better sometimes.”

Celaena contemplated that.

“It was a good thing you did for Lysandra,” Lillian added. “Yes, even if you only did it because Nehemia was worried.”

She wasn’t sure she believed that was true, either - she didn’t pretend to totally understand Celaena, but she knew from personal experience that discussion or reminders of Terrasen’s royal family or their deaths was guaranteed to get a reaction from Celaena as few things were. Lillian wasn’t  _ stupid:  _ she could see some of the parallels here. At least these children still had one parent.

“Lysandra is better equipped than Erick was,” Celaena said as if she could read Lillian’s thoughts. Occasionally Lillian did wonder. “He couldn’t do much to earn money at first.”

Lillian wanted to ask all sorts of things - at first? Why Erick, and not a nurse or a guard? She’d learned recently that Erick wasn’t even ten years older than Celaena. He’d have been maybe sixteen when Queen Evalin and King Rhoe were murdered. Who was he, to be so fanatically devoted so young?

But if she pressed she was worried Celaena would never say anything about it again. Celaena’s estimation of Erick’s skill was too high, in Lillian’s opinion, but she supposed she hadn’t ever seen him actually try to kill someone.

“And the people he wants to die do whether you see him or not,” Celaena had pointed out when Lillian mentioned it.

“He didn’t want final fittings?” Lillian asked now.

“Mistress Gordaina told him that if he changed one more detail she would never dress him again,” Celaena said. “He said he didn’t want to risk it.”

They rode for a bit in silence, and Celaena said, “She really is excellent. She asked him the first time he ordered something whether he’d be wearing as many knives with that outfit as the one he was wearing right then. Nobody but me ever spotted Erick’s knives before, and  _ I  _ knew they were there.”

She paused. “Well, and you. That makes sense.”

“It’s how the fabric’s cut,” Lillian said. “And how it drapes. You can make it less obvious, but a really good dressmaker knows how to spot the tricks even if they don’t know what exactly somebody’s hiding. The knives were probably a guess. Don’t tell Erick.”

“It was funny to watch him not know what to say for once,” Celaena admitted.

“Does he know they’re my parents?”

Celaena shrugged, the same one she used as Kaltain. Celaena was really very lucky she didn’t  _ know _ anybody else as Celaena: once you started looking closely, it was easy to see that Kaltain and Celaena had similar mannerisms even if one wore wigs and structured dresses.

“It’s important,” Lillian said.

“I think he knows,” Celaena replied. “We haven’t discussed it. He likes them, though, he said - or at least he likes your mother.”

Lillian was irritated to realize that the idea that he liked her mother softened her towards Erick. Plenty of people liked her mother. Even people Leah Gordaina didn’t like liked her. Her mother was likable, because her mother was extremely good at talking to customers and running a shop. 

They didn’t speak for the rest of the ride.

* * *

Lillian’s dress for Solstice was red, of course. It did double duty as a show of national pride and acknowledgement of Mala’s fire. Since Lillian looked good in red, if not as good as she did in blue, she wasn’t upset about it.

Since Elaine had decided to get creative, Lillian wasn’t upset about anything else, either. She was standing on a stool letting Elaine sew her into the structured undermost layer when Dorian knocked.

He and Chaol had different knocks. Chaol’s was businesslike. Dorian’s was always hesitant.

“Come in!” she called, when he didn’t open the door after his and Chaol’s usual short wait.

Dorian obeyed, though when he closed the door behind him she could see in the mirror that he kept his hand on the knob, as if he was prepared to leave at any moment. He was in royal white, rumpled and losing its stiffness from being worn since the earliest hours of the morning. The circles under his eyes were only made more evident by the havoc that particular shade of white worked on his skin. “I didn’t really get to say good morning,” he said. “Hello, Elaine.”

“You got up early even for me,” Lillian replied, trying to crane her neck to look more closely at him without getting in Elaine’s way.

“Look straight please, Lady Lillian,” Elaine admonished, which meant she had not succeeded. “Your Highness, please, I only have so much time to literally sew her into this dress, and frankly I don’t want to be involved in your romantic troubles.”

“They aren’t troubles,” Lillian protested instead of pointing out that Elaine had been cautious about the whole thing last year. She, at least, was not afraid of Dorian either.

“Chaol said we needed to clear some things up.”

Elaine sighed. “Lady Manon only tried to marry him to be queen, nobody is attached, don’t get in the way of her nails, they’re very sharp.”

“All true,” Dorian said after a moment. “How do you know about the nails?”

“Everybody knows about the nails,” Elaine said. “They are not subtle.”

Though Manon clearly hadn’t used them on Dorian, whose cheek scars from the most severe of Lillian’s panic attacks were healed but not quite to the point of invisibility. Unless she had, and that was why he was so unconcerned about the whole thing. Lillian didn't care for the idea.

He touched the scars absently, maybe thinking about the incident, and Lillian winced. The scars weren’t entirely straight or parallel - nails weren’t sharp enough to slice cleanly through skin - but four ran in roughly the same direction down his left cheek, starting dangerously close to his eye and trailing off before they reached the edge of his jaw. Above his lip a fifth, smaller one was the faintest.

No one had asked what happened to Dorian’s previously unblemished face, but then, Lillian supposed that everyone who cared already knew.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Lillian said. “I was just surprised by some new information. We can talk more about it once everyone is well rested. Did you get a nap?”

“No,” he said, watching her warily.

“Lay down and doze while Elaine finishes with me.”

“You don’t like it when I wrinkle my clothes,” he said, half a question.

“They are your clothes to wrinkle whether I like it or not,” Lillian said briskly, “and anyway, that is not what you will be wearing to the night celebrations. Elaine and I - mostly Elaine, I’m rusty - made sure you had something actually nice.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” Dorian said, and flopped face first onto Lillian’s bed.

He managed to doze - or at least close his eyes - while Elaine finished sewing Lillian into the dress.

The underdress was close-fit, boned through the bodice, and very red. The hem was uneven and should, if Lillian managed to dance, look like spreading lily petals from above when she spun. The outer layer was entirely sheer and fell to the floor, with streams of lilies picked out in thread of gold and tiny glass beads of red and gold falling from the pointed waistline and crawling up from the hem. More sheer fabric, this edged in gold lace and more glass beads, covered the lily-petal neckline of the underdress that rose to her chin and fell over the billowy three-quarter sleeves of yet more sheer fabric caught with cuffs just below her elbows. 

“That’s pretty,” Dorian said groggily from the bed. “Is sheer the new lace?’

“I use whatever I can get to make her better dressed than everybody,” Elaine replied, inspecting Lillian critically. She twirled a finger, and Lillian, suppressing a memory of the king doing the same, turned so Elaine could look at all angles.

“I don’t think it’s a competition,” Dorian said.

“You’re wrong,” Elaine said blithely, and gestured for Lillian to sit at the vanity. “I’m winning either way, though. The queen’s seamstress is good, but Georgina knows what she looks good in and doesn’t like to deviate when she doesn’t have to.”

Dorian’s face creased into an expression Lillian could only classify as ‘adorable confusion’. “Lillian knows what looks good on her.”

“Yes,” Elaine said, “but I know what  _ will  _ look good on her, and she knows enough to listen.”

“I don’t know enough about it to argue,” Dorian admitted, and appeared to doze off again.

Elaine squinted suspiciously at him. Lillian could see it in the mirror. “Is this normal for him?”

“If you say his name he’ll be sitting up and probably moving before he’s actually awake,” Lillian said. “I won’t be surprised if he doesn’t remember that that conversation happened at all.”

The king had instilled unthinking obedience into Dorian as a child - well, Philippa had helped, out of self-and-child-preservation. Lillian had seen Philippa call him from the other room and Dorian be up, dressed, and halfway through eating breakfast before he actually woke up, blinking around him with zero memory of having done any of it. It was almost like Lillian’s panic attacks, only Dorian went completely docile, and Lillian - well.

So really it made sense that Dorian tried to push back when he could, even if it was just through being late.

“I’ll finish your hair and get his clothes,” Elaine said, sighing. “Brullo is being wasted.”

“Brullo can’t sew as well as you can,” Lillian replied, and closed her eyes to let Elaine start in with the decorative pins.

Lillian had almost dozed off herself when Elaine said, “One day you’ll sing the whole song,” and Lillian realized she was humming again.

_ Passion then cooled, but another love grew,  _ _   
_ _ Warmed by contentment well nurtured and true, _ _   
_ _ Playful and growing, little life taking wing,  _ _   
_ __ Mab, pure as snow thaw, precious ruler of spring

“One day I’ll know the whole song,” Lillian grumbled, and Elaine shrugged and finished up her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look AN ILLUSTRATION!
> 
> https://longsightmyth.tumblr.com/post/643539358865113088/lillians-dress-in-chapter-8-courtesy-of


	9. Chapter 9

Even Chaol was wearing red, and he was unhappy about it.

“It isn’t like you’re standing out,” Dorian pointed out. “You’d be standing out more in black.”

Chaol would have looked good in red, Lillian reflected, if he didn’t look so uncomfortable about it. Dorian looked fine if not stellar, and Elaine had contrived to embroider a beautifully detailed wyvern in white over his heart. She and Lillian had decided after some debate on the old fashioned design where it was curled in a circle, tip of its tail just ahead of its snout and wings folded loosely. Dorian had once said that when he was a child he’d thought it looked like the wyvern was chasing its tail and having a good time.

“Like a puppy,” he’d admitted somewhat abashedly.

It had been too adorable an opportunity for Lillian to pass up, though she could understand why King Roland had gravitated towards the warlike, screaming wyverns that currently adorned the palace.

“Maybe we can just add red embroidery to one of your uniforms next time,” she suggested to Chaol. “Red trim. An earring?”

“Nobody is putting a needle near my ear,” Chaol said flatly, and Lillian and Dorian, both of whom had pierced ears, shrugged at each other.

The Summer Solstice celebrations were in the same royal garden as the banquet where Desmond, one of Dorian’s cousins and short-lived rivals for the position of Crown Prince, had been murdered by Celaena. Lillian still hadn’t figured out how exactly - poison seemed likely, given the givens, but what poisons and what sort of slight-of-hand remained unproven and to all appearances unexamined - and Celaena had been reticent on the subject.

Chaol, Dorian, and Lillian waited in the same side hall they had then to be announced, though this time Lillian wore cloth-of-gold-covered leather flat slippers with red glass beads instead of clear glass heels and tiny mirrors.

Faintly through the doors they heard, “Her Highness Nehemia Atarah Ytger, Crown Princess of Eyllwe.”

“That’s new,” Chaol said, and Lillian frowned. The only other time Nehemia had been announced with the royals was the stageplay of a royal audience after the Calaculla massacre. What was the king planning?

“His Highness Hollin Havilliard,” the herald continued.

“Have you spoken to Hollin at all?” Lillian murmured.

“No,” Dorian said, and plastered a smile on his face as the doors swung open.

“His Highness Dorian Havilliard,” the herald said, and nothing else.

Since at all other formal events he had announced Lillian, it took them a split second to realize he wasn’t going to this time. Dorian shot a glare the herald’s way as Chaol gave him and Lillian a tiny push to set them in motion, and they went down the stairs and into the sea of red.

Lillian fought the unreasonable pique at being ignored - by the herald, not by anyone else, everyone shot sideways looks at her now over the slight - and smiled at everyone until her teeth hurt. It was most likely not the herald’s fault. Some organizer somewhere had handed him the list, and that organizer had probably received instructions from someone.

The king was making some sort of statement. Lillian wished she knew what it was: this seemed especially petty.

“His Majesty the king,” the herald said after an appropriate interlude. “Her Majesty the queen. Lady Remelle.”

Lillian, who had sunk into a deep curtsy with the rest of the non-royal members of the court, snapped her head up. On the king’s right arm was, appropriately, Georgina. Her red dress’ neckline rose to her chin and let the clinging fabric and gold and white embroidery emphasize her figure.

On his left arm was Remelle, resplendent in shining red silk embroidered with more red silk, only glimpses of gold winking in the tips of the wings of countless tiny birds worked in swirls all over the body of the dress. Her neckline was lower than Manon’s had been the night before. Presumably the fact that her loose sleeves looked about to fall from her shoulders and down her arms was a skillfull illusion on the part of her seamstress because everything else fit perfectly, down to the way she had definitely been sewn into her bodice as Lillian had.

What kind of undergarments gave her that bosom, Lillian wondered, and where could she get some? Lillian herself usually liked her small chest, but there were some dress styles that looked better with -

Everyone rose and stood aside for the royals and Remelle. There were no smiles for them.

Lady Amerie of Meah said in an undertone behind Lillian, “No one can say this wasn’t a possibility. Maybe Georgina will put herself away with the Maidens like Adeline.”

“Georgina isn’t involved in treason,” Dorian hissed.

Amerie said pityingly, “You thought Leanne was?”

_ “Later,”  _ Lillian said as forcefully as she could without it carrying. Chaol gripped Dorian’s elbow.

At least the formal announcements were over. “Mingle,” Amerie suggested. “If anyone makes any comments about Lillian’s lack of introduction, make a joke.”

“I thought you all knew who I was by now?” Lillian suggested. “Something like that.”

“She knows it’s Remelle’s first formal occasion,” Dorian added, face still tight. “She didn’t want to overshadow her.”

“Don’t be mean,” Lillian said. “It’s not Remelle’s fault.”

“Her fault or not, the fact that she’s here is at least a threat to Georgina and you,” Amerie replied before Dorian could. “Georgina can take herself to the Maidens with relative ease - as queen, she’s already a benefactress. Will they take you in if you throw yourselves on their mercy?”

Lillian grimaced. They should \- the Maidens of Deanna were ostensibly the protectors of all women - but they still seemed to protect a disproportionately large number of rich noblewomen.

“We have  _ all  _ noticed the resemblance,” Amerie said. “Even the men have noticed something’s off about it.”

“Thanks so much,” Chaol said.

“Sorry, if she didn’t look like your lover would you have noticed before now?” Amerie asked.

“Gavin Havilliard married Elena and Rhiannon at the same time,” Lillian said to spare Chaol Amerie’s attention. “It’s why the northern fiefs are part of Adarlan. Your father’s so fond of tradition, why hasn’t he married more than one woman at once?”

“He married Elena when Rhiannon left him,” Amerie said. “It’s not the same thing.”

She smiled crookedly when they all three looked at her. “I’m not saying a case couldn’t be made - King Durand married two women, though the council made him choose which one would be Queen in full and which one was just a consort - but that didn’t end well either.”

They stared.

“Read some history why don’t you,” she said. “I know your father likes to burn other people’s libraries, but it isn’t as if your cousins didn’t get some special privileges.”

“Do you read a lot about Elena?” Lillian asked too casually for Amerie to be fooled.

The elderly lady sighed. “I will endeavor to send you relevant texts. Some of the provenance is admittedly fishy - our nobles have over the centuries done a surprising amount of vanity publishing. I suppose that did make it difficult to track down every book with something different monarchs haven’t liked.”

She snorted when they continued to stare. “Did you think your father was the only autocrat in our history? Kings don’t like books that say unflattering things about them or their ancestors.” She poked Dorian in the chest. “Don’t be like that.”

“I don’t think Lillian would let him,” Chaol said.

Amerie shook her head at them. “Mingle!”

They obeyed.

* * *

Lillian found Hollin first. He stood stiffly beside Manon, who held a wineglass in one hand, carelessly loose as if daring it to spill on her sleek and trailing velvet skirts. Her nails were still deep red but the lip paint was lighter, making her look younger. 

Manon did not appear to be doing anything, but Hollin had the same air of hunted nerves that Dorian did sometimes after a conversation with the king. Lillian cut through the remaining crowd and faked a stumble into Hollin, making him step back to more effectively catch her and leaving her between him and Manon.

“This gravel is awful,” Lillian said cheerily. “Thank you for the rescue, Hollin. Who’s this?”

Up close, Manon’s eyes were a darker brown than Chaol’s and her eyebrows arched in an apparently permanent expression of amused disdain.

Lillian was impressed. Few could pull off the expression as well as Erick Rompier, but Manon managed: maybe the two of them deserved each other.

“Oh,” Hollin said. “Lillian, this is Lady Manon. Lady Manon, Lady Lillian. She’s...”

There was a pause when Hollin trailed off, reluctant to introduce his brother’s mistress  _ as _ his mistress to his brother’s former betrothed. 

It was possible Lillian hadn’t thought this through entirely, but she took comfort in the brief flash of irritation on Manon’s face over being introduced as the lower-ranking lady.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she said politely, giving Manon the tiniest acknowledgement curtsy she could get away with.

“Only good things, I’m sure,” Manon said dryly.

“Of course,” Lillian replied, refusing to acknowledge the sarcasm. “Dorian says you’re funny. Hollin, would you mind helping me get across this gravel to Nehemia?”

Hollin obligingly offered his arm, and Lillian gave Manon a little wave as they moved off.

“You don’t need my help,” Hollin said flatly. “You don’t need anybody’s help.”

“Untrue,” Lillian said. “Everybody needs help sometimes.”

His face set stubbornly, but he didn’t say anything for another moment. Lillian waited as they wound their way through greenery and knots of people.

“I didn’t need help with Manon,” he said finally.

“If you want to go back, be my guest.”

He frowned. She sighed. “My friends rescue me from situations I don’t want to be in all the time, even if I don’t necessarily need them to.”

“We aren’t friends.”

“Okay,” Lillian said.

He frowned harder. “We  _ aren’t.” _

“Okay,” she said again. “I’d like to be, though. Would you?”

He stopped walking, which made her actually stumble instead of faking it. Gravel really was the worst.

“That’s not how it works,” he said irritably. “You don’t just ask people to be friends.”

“Is there another way that’s worked better for you?” Lillian asked, honestly curious. 

Hollin opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and snapped it shut a final time, looking bewildered.

“I didn’t think so,” Lillian said. “Friends?”

“Where did Dorian even find you?” he demanded.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Lillian informed him. “Come on, I want to introduce you to Nehemia.”

Hollin followed when she towed him along.


	10. Chapter 10

Nehemia stood surrounded by courtiers, for once without the protective presence of Kaltain. She was the only person not in red, and made full use of looking much better in white than anyone else in the room. She wasn’t wearing a crown tonight, but her hair had been done in countless tiny braids woven through with gold threads and wrapped around her head to give the impression of one.

“Why doesn’t she have to wear red,” Hollin muttered. Lillian felt some sympathy - his spots weren’t bad tonight, but the red drew attention to the tiny cut on his chin, probably from learning to shave. 

“In Eyllwe Mala is celebrated differently,” Lillian said, instead of explaining that actually Eyllweans didn’t have much use for gods, who tended to ignore petitions and smite people indiscriminately. Ancestors could at least be counted on to care about their legacy.

“Lillian!” Nehemia called, beckoning. 

The courtiers moved aside for Lillian and Hollin. Among them Lillian noted [Lord Mullinson], who looked strange out of his accustomed yellow, and the deceased Desmond’s former spymaster, whose name Lillian had learned was Lady Asterin. 

Asterin gave Lillian a quick and unnecessary curtsy, and Lillian bobbed one back. Of all the nobles, Asterin and Amerie were the two who had come first to help Lillian save a group of servants the king had wanted to execute for his own convenience. The pretty blonde had left court soon after. Lillian was glad to see her back, and would be gladder when Asterin could be back in colors that suited her. Neither solstice red nor the grey she’d worn to what ended up being Rosamund’s execution were exceptionally flattering to her coloring.

Nehemia took Lillian’s hand and dragged her, and by extension Hollin, to her side. “I see you found His Highness.”

“All it took was a court-wide summons,” Lillian said lightly. “I know you two have met, but here we all are without bodyguards for once.”

“How is Cain?” Nehemia asked just as lightly, though Lillian wasn’t fooled. Kaltain didn’t like Cain - had, in point of fact, implied that she was wary of him - so Nehemia didn’t either. That he had technically tried to kill Lillian did not further endear him to Nehemia, though in fairness to Cain Lillian had been prepared to murder him too.

“He’s fine,” Hollin said, spine straightening. He reclaimed his hand from Lillian. “Good as new.”

Back when healers fixed injuries with magic instead of splints and teas and prayers Cain  _ would  _ have been good as new, but now… Fine? Probably. Good as new? 

Not with that broken foot, Lillian thought, briefly contrite. Too many little bones.

Lillian realized she was humming  _ again,  _ this time with a little bit of a vindictive edge, and made herself stop. Hollin frowned at her.

“I hope Remelle is having a good time,” Lillian said. “I think this is her first royal party, isn’t it? Georgina is so kind for showing her around.”

“Georgina is always the soul of courtesy,” Nehemia agreed blandly. “It was good of you to let Remelle have so much attention.”

Lillian waved that away as the surrounding courtiers watched. “We couldn’t let that dress go to waste, could we?”

Hollin giggled, covering his mouth immediately after and looking surprised.

“You all know that my greatest love is fashion,” Lillian continued. “Sometimes I have to acknowledge that someone has outdone me. I’ll have to really exert myself at the next party.”

_ Sorry, Elaine,  _ she thought, as around her the courtiers relaxed, most of them tittering with polite laughter.

“I don’t know why anyone cares,” Lillian heard, and looked. Kaltain had made her way almost to them, and someone must have mentioned Remelle.

“She’s pretty,” Kaltain continued with a clearly - to Lillian, at least - calculated toss of her head, “but when has  _ pretty  _ been enough to last here?”

“Of course,” Erick said, amusement evident. “One must be as beautiful as I am to survive entirely on their looks.”

“Don’t say that while you’re wearing red,” Lillian called. “People will lower their standards.”

One of the nobles in the cluster cracked a laugh, cut off midway as Erick raised one coppery eyebrow, looking delighted.

“I would think the tailoring more than made up for the color,” he said, approaching easily. The nobles moved aside, possibly because he would have walked over them if they didn’t.

“The best tailoring in the world can only do so much with red hair and bright red clothes,” Lillian said. “It’s not your tailor’s fault.”

“As opposed to your gold, which-” he stopped when Lillian caught his wrist and dug her nails in between the tendons. He’d been reaching to tug at a curl, which she did not want him to do.

“My maid worked so hard on my hair,” Lillian said with a smile. She made sure her nails dug in a little deeper. She could feel the flat knives he had in forearm sheaths. 

Lillian’s assassin-ing was a politely ignored open secret, but the court, though generally unnerved by Erick, didn’t seem to realize his actual profession. She was gambling that he’d like it kept that way, which meant Lillian could risk the occasional show of force, while Erick… well, that depended, but either way Lillian would learn something. 

“We wouldn’t want to ruin Elaine’s hard work,” Erick replied with a smile of his own. It didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t escape Lillian that he knew Elaine’s name, just as he already knew Philippa’s and her parents’.

So there they were. Erick waited.

Lillian turned her smile up several notches and said, turning as she loosened her grip so she was, in effect, hanging off his arm, “Erick, I don’t think we’ve danced before.”

“Haven’t we?” he asked, sliding his opposite hand over hers and patting it as if in fondness. “I seem to remember something.”

“Refresh my memory,” she said, and he swung her out onto the dance floor that had been once again set up over the main crossway of the garden paths. It was one of the more energetic court dances. Erick was to her complete lack of surprise an excellent dancer, and also strong: when the time came to toss her into the air and let her spin, he caught her with no problem.

“I thought we were friends, Lillian,” he said mildly, when the song ended and a more sedate tune was struck up. 

“I don’t know why,” she replied. “I am grateful that you didn’t drop me, but I think that’s as far as our mutual good feeling goes.”

“Hmm,” he said, deftly moving her away from a couple so absorbed in each other that they would have trampled her and Erick both. “I’m too fond of your mother to actually kill you.”

That answered that question.

“I suppose I’m too fond of Kaltain to kill you,” she said regretfully, which made him laugh.

“I like that you think you could,” he said. “Almost enough to like you.”

Lillian was tempted - deeply  _ \-  _ to stab him just to prove a point, but that would probably cause more trouble than it was worth.

She stepped on his foot instead, hard enough to make sure he knew she did it on purpose, and revelled in his clear irritation. 

That was what was to blame, she decided, for neither of them noticing the dancers parting for the king’s approach.

“May I cut in?” the king asked, hand extended.

Lillian dropped into a quick curtsy to stave off answering, and Erick a bow.

“Majesty, the dance has only just started,” Erick said to Lillian’s surprise. “You can’t steal her now _.”  _

“I think I can, Erick,” the king said. He grinned, as if all three of them shared a joke. “If only to spare your toes.”

“I’d never step on  _ your  _ toes, Majesty,” Lillian demurred, fully aware of the crowd watching the entire interaction. 

“All the more reason for me to take over,” he said comfortably, and that was that. Lillian put her hand in his, Erick bowed himself away, and the music, which had faltered, started up again.


End file.
